


And So, All Yours

by theredrobin



Series: Elizabeth & Darcy: A Life in Snatches [1]
Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: After the Wedding, F/M, Honeymoon, Post-Book(s), Post-Canon, Regency, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-22
Packaged: 2019-01-04 07:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theredrobin/pseuds/theredrobin
Summary: Love has no ending, no final parting words. This was only the beginning.





	And So, All Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Those who seek a plot, take heed: here be only the reveries of a heart long lost to romantic abandon.

The frost-covered woods and hillsides blurred into vague, rolling contours as tears welled in Elizabeth's eyes. She could not keep them from gathering while the carriage drew her farther and farther from home.

 _No, no longer home_ , she amended, repressing the sob that suddenly rose into her throat.

More than a little ashamed of herself, Elizabeth turned towards the window to give herself time to recover her composure under the pretense of granting the fallow trees a degree of interest they ordinarily would not merit. One traitorous tear, however, undid everything, stealing from the corner of her eye and down her cheek before vanishing into the folds of her skirt as if it had never been.

Warm fingers upturned her hand so that the palm was facing up, and something was pressed to it. A handkerchief.

She glanced at the scrap of muslin and then to its giver. Darcy was watching her quietly from his place beside her. Her husband of scarcely a few hours did not seem overmuch alarmed by the sight of her tears, but his expression was soft with compassion.

Taking leave after the wedding breakfast had been far more difficult for Elizabeth than she had imagined it would be. The cheerful cacophony outside of Longbourn bordered on bedlam as guest upon guest laughed and bid them shouted adieus amidst a flurry of grain and flower petals cast at the brides and grooms.

The first to wish the departing couples joy were Mr and Mrs Gardiner. They, who would always be regarded as the means of reuniting Elizabeth and Darcy, were met by both with affectionate embraces and effusions of gratitude whose implications extended well beyond those customarily given to the guests of a wedding party.

While Jane and Charles moved on to receive the icy congratulations of the Hursts and Miss Bingley, Elizabeth and Darcy came upon Lord and Lady Matlock. Elizabeth had been astonished by how kind and gracious the Earl and his wife were towards both herself and her family since Darcy had introduced them. It was indeed a relief to discover that Lord Matlock favored his sister's character only insomuch as Mr Gardiner's resembled that of his. Even their elder son, the Viscount Robert, was high in her estimations; he had sent along his regrets at being unable to attend because of his wife's fragile health as well as his best wishes. It seemed Lady Catherine, who, needless to say, was not present, was the veritable black sheep of the family.

While Elizabeth was sensible of the compliment Lord and Lady Matlock paid her in coming to Hertfordshire for the wedding, another matter entirely, one that by all accounts she was not even meant to be privy to, had secured her warm feelings far more faithfully.

Two days prior to the wedding, Darcy brought his family to take tea with the Bennets. Before Mr Bennet had disengaged himself from _Parmenides_ to emerge from his study, and while Mrs Bennet was in the thick of a truly exceptional turn of hysterics in the kitchen—"The _Earl_ and his wife have been to the finest London houses and associated with the best of society, Lizzy. Whatever am I to serve them? Oh, Hill, I shall go distracted!"—Elizabeth took it upon herself to bring the tray of tea things into the parlor where they were waiting.

Lady Matlock's dulcet accents carried into the passage just as she was about to enter. "…a truly lovely girl, Fitzwilliam, quite everything a young lady ought to be. It is obvious she loves you very much."

Elizabeth felt her cheeks flush with pleasure.

"Him and Georgiana both, mother," came Richard's jovial voice, "and not his money, which is a sight more than we would have been able to say for any of the ton's matchmaking mamas and capricious daughters who had designs on him. The way they flock together and pursue their unsuspecting prey…I half expected one of them to swoop down and sink their claws into you, Darcy. With feathers becoming fashionable, it has only exacerbated the situation."

Georgiana gave in to giggles just as Lady Matlock admonished her son with, "Hush, Richard, that is unkind." It sounded as if she might have been stifling her own chuckle.

As their conversation seemed to call for privacy, and on the verge of laughing herself at the Colonel's antics, Elizabeth determined to return to the kitchen for a few moments. She had all but departed, though not far enough to avoid overhearing what the Earl said next.

"Your mother would have loved her."

But it was Darcy's quiet reply, at once wistful and proud, that had her heart caught in her throat. "I know, Uncle Robert. I know."

If he noticed his fiancée's eyes were especially brilliant as she attended to her guests that afternoon, Darcy never said a word, but a half-startled smile did appear on his lips when she deliberately brushed his hand with her own while passing him his teacup.

And so, Lord and Lady Matlock's felicitations were met with Elizabeth's candid thanks. What was more, she knew that their presence meant more to Darcy than he would ever own to. He was fairly beaming as he gripped the Earl's hand.

Colonel Fitzwilliam was just beside his parents, and once they had their say, he stepped forward. Extricating Elizabeth's hand from her husband's arm, he bowed over her and brought the back of it to his lips.

"Welcome to the family, cousin," he said with a glint of irreverence in his eye.

As the Colonel straightened, the pointed smile he gave was directed not towards Elizabeth, but Darcy. Elizabeth laughed as she looked between Colonel Fitzwilliam's amused face and Darcy's scowling one, realizing then that the Colonel had very much intended to provoke his cousin.

Before Darcy could retaliate, Georgiana stepped forward to congratulate her brother and long-awaited sister with a bashfulness that was already beginning to ebb a very little from Elizabeth's influence. Elizabeth embraced her newest sister, already as dear to her as Jane and the others. When she gave her word to write often until they next met, she was rewarded with an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

Elizabeth had hardly relinquished Georgiana for a moment alone with her brother when she found herself being prevailed upon by a very emotional, very loud Mrs Bennet.

"Oh! Two daughters married in a single day! When shall I see my dear girls again? How will my poor nerves bear it?"

It was then, she supposed, it had begun. Recognition of just how great a change to-day marked in her life struck Elizabeth forcibly, and she found herself holding back the unexpected tears that sprang to her eyes. Mary and Kitty gathered round her next, and taking a hand of each, she made them promise to look after one another as only sisters could.

When it came time to bid her father farewell, Elizabeth's courage did not uphold quite the same. She threw her arms around him and felt his own tighten almost possessively as if to say this was _his_ daughter, and nothing, decree of holy ordinance or otherwise, would invalidate that. There were no words; none were adequate. So, with a long, tearful look and a watery smile, Mr Bennet placed a kiss on her forehead and released her.

And then there was only Jane. The moment Elizabeth met her eldest sister's eye, no resolve of any kind could check what was inevitable in coming. The pair of them fell to crying and clung to each other, knowing that while they had gained so much to-day, there too was loss, for never would there be another night of crowding into either of their childhood beds—beds that for quite some time had been nearly too small to hold them both together—to whisper about their hopes and secrets until dawn broke, nor would they ever again know the same place as home.

Home. That single word had led Elizabeth to her current state in the carriage.

Blinking away the drops that clung to her lashes, she lifted his handkerchief to dry them and gave a rueful laugh. "I am afraid you have taken a wife who is proving herself rather sillier than either of us would wish her to be."

A small, tender smile flickered on Darcy's lips, but he replied in a tone that was almost grave with his sincerity. "Does not departing everything you have ever known pardon a few tears?"

"More reasonable answers?" Elizabeth pretended to scoff, but an echoing smile teased at the corners of her mouth. "But enough of tears," she said with her gaze on the muslin she was folding into squares in her lap. "Our future lay before us with so much more brightness and promise than anything of my past."

Almost shyly, she reached out and tucked the handkerchief into the breast pocket of his greatcoat, just over his heart. Whether her words or her touch were the cause, Darcy gave a sharp intake of breath that brought Elizabeth to look up into his eyes. Her own breath caught. His eyes had always made her believe him capable of seeing far beyond her exterior. Long had it disconcerted her how exposed she felt before him, as if his gaze penetrated directly into her soul, that he could decipher her very thoughts, but now…

Darcy's hand came drifting up, stroking her cheek with the back of his fingers. His reserved countenance, born of years of practiced schooling of his features and his refuge from the world, was gone. In its place was something altogether different. The look Darcy fixed upon her was almost startling, and had it been any other man, she might have said frightening, but not with him, never.

He leaned towards her and Elizabeth's face tilted upwards to meet him. She was surprised, but hardly disappointed, as his lips went to her cheek instead of her mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed as he brushed a feather-light trail over her dewy skin, feeling him kiss away the traces of a missed tear. With unhurried, indulgent nibbles, Darcy inched his way lower and lower until her lips were under his.

It began gently at first, like it had always been, but their soft kiss grew into several lingering ones that blurred and melted together as he came back over and over, never truly releasing her lips. Everything slowly intensified with each feverish caress until they surrendered themselves to a haze of desire as they had done but once during their courtship when Darcy's careful self-control slipped. For Elizabeth, it was far from unwelcome. She had longed to be kissed like this again ever since, but the guilt he had felt over losing his gentlemanly sensibilities rendered her assurances that he had done nothing wrong powerless to persuade him. Now, Elizabeth returned his every kiss and touch with all the passion that was suddenly and fiercely burning within her.

Sometime later, little by little and as if it pained him, Darcy withdrew from her, panting and his eyes almost wild. Elizabeth was by no means composed either. She felt flushed and dizzy. Barely aware of what she was about, she touched her fingers to her tingling lips.

Darcy, his breath still coming ragged, watched her for a moment. "I—"

A shadow of remorse in his eyes brought Elizabeth to remove her hand from her mouth and gently place it over his. "Fitzwilliam, if you apologize, I shall never forgive you." Her voice was light and playful, but her eyes willed him to understand that what had passed was something she wanted just as much as he.

When, in reply, Darcy's lips pressed against her fingertips in a kiss, she shivered.

With sense of comfort and contentment stealing over her, Elizabeth brought her head to rest on his shoulder. After securing the rug that had slipped from their legs moments before, he drew her closer. For the remainder of their journey, they alternately talked in low murmuring exchanges and dozed nestled against one another.

It was during the course of this very carriage ride that Elizabeth came to one of the most meaningful realizations she would have that day, or even for the rest of her life: Where Fitzwilliam Darcy was _was_ her home.

.*.

As if understood by some prior arrangement, Darcy and Elizabeth awoke very nearly in tandem. They were just on the outskirts of town, and they rode on the last quarter of an hour into the heart of London in silence.

The wintry evening twilight had rendered the streets deserted but for the lamplighters who left flickering licks of fire in their wake. Before long, the rocking of the carriage lulled, signaling that they had reached Grosvenor Square.

The staff had been awaiting their arrival in the vestibule. There were far too many for her to reasonably be introduced to each one by one—Elizabeth stopped counting after five and twenty as a slight twinge of apprehension crept over her at the thought of being responsible for so many servants—but Darcy did acquaint her more personally with two of their number.

The first was the housekeeper, Mrs Anderson. She was everything that was delight and frankness as she wished her new mistress welcome. The other was the newly employed lady's maid, Lily, hired expressly for her. Fair-haired, somewhat younger than Elizabeth herself, and visibly intimidated, the girl sank into a deep curtsey and kept her eyes trained on the carpeting. Elizabeth spoke to her in gentle tones, hoping to put her at ease, but whether her efforts had done as she intended, she did not know for certain. Lily glanced up briefly with surprise apparent in her face.

The housekeeper addressed them then. "All is in readiness. Would you like to take supper, or do you prefer to rest first?"

"Mrs Darcy?" Darcy turned to her with bright eyes.

Elizabeth could not help but smile at how happy he looked to be able to call her that—smile at how happy she was. "Supper, I think, Mrs Anderson."

.*.

Dinner passed in quiet intimacy. The attending servants were dismissed, and Elizabeth and Darcy ate with only each other for company. Sitting very close together at the long dining room table and holding hands between mouthfuls of the dishes before them, they spoke of everything and nothing; everything, of course, excepting what to-night would be for them.

When they finished, they retired to the music room where they lounged in silence before the fire, simply savoring that for the first time, they could spend as long as they liked alone together. Elizabeth had her cheek atop his shoulder, much as she had in the carriage, while he absently stroked her arm.

"Will you sing for me?"

She withdrew from him at the sound of his unexpected enquiry, smirking a little. "I had not the faintest idea of your being in a humor to be diverted."

Darcy shook his head in amusement at her self-deprecating tone. "Little gives me as much pleasure as the sound of your voice."

In truth, her heart was touched by the earnestness in his tone, but she could not allow his praise to hang unchallenged, and so she threw one last tease back at him as she approached the pianoforte. "There is no accounting for taste."

Afterwards, Elizabeth could not recall what piece she chose to play; there was too much else to be remembered. What she did know was that his gaze never strayed from her while she sang, and it was to him she consigned the blame when her fingers stumbled over the keys oftener than was her wont. Unpracticed as she was, there could be no mistaking the connection of her glancing up to meet his look only to find herself neglecting the next note that was called for. At least she kept her voice from wavering.

By that time, the clock was tolling ten. Though she should have been a little tired, Elizabeth was not in the least. If anything, as the last of the chimes resonated, she felt a restive fluttering blossom in her stomach.

"We have an early day ahead of us. Do you want to retire, Elizabeth?"

He looked away almost immediately, but she did not miss the strange glittering in his eyes or the barely perceptible flush of his complexion.

Her tongue was suddenly no longer under her command, but somehow she managed to whisper an indistinct 'yes.' Darcy rose from his place and helped her from the settee, taking up a candlestick from the side table before leading them from the music room to the staircase.

The passage was empty but for them, and as the candle threw fleeting glimpses of the townhouse into relief, Elizabeth spared them no thought. When they reached a door towards the end of the corridor, Darcy stopped before it and turned to face her. At last the candle's soft glow revealed what she most wanted to see. For a moment, they only stood there looking at one another, her hand still in his.

At length, Darcy bent low and whispered to her, "Come to me when you are ready."

There was the barest brush of his lips at her ear, and then he left her and the candle before her chamber door to go to his own.

.*.

With a bemused curtsey, Lily quitted the presence of her new mistress. Elizabeth requested that she might attend her own hair.

The truth of the matter was that she had only wanted a moment alone to gather her tangled thoughts. She scarcely noticed her reflection as she began to brush her unruly curls, her eyes instead contemplating the vase full of crocuses and winter jasmines on her vanity table.

For all her life, Elizabeth's heart had been her own. While she was open and amiable in temperament, she was not unguarded, and the innermost workings of her heart were kept from everyone, including Jane and her papa. Such she had always expected it to be and such it might still have been if not for Darcy. Now her heart, its secrets, everything it harbored, was his, utterly and completely his. She gave it willingly…and yet the vulnerability that came inexorably attached in exposing herself so was a circumstance that frightened her.

That anyone, even if it was her husband, held so much power over her was something she could not help but be terrified by. Elizabeth loved Darcy, she trusted him, and she certainly did not doubt his love for her. Why, then, was there this irreconcilable fear?

The answer came in the shape of her parents.

Her father still loved her mother in his own way, it was true, but there were other feelings to be considered besides love. How had her mother endured it, seeing her husband's respect for her diminish every day of their marriage until it had warped into contempt and, at times, indifference? But Elizabeth was not her mother. She knew _she_ could not bear it.

 _That will not be us_ , came a stronger voice.

Through the looking glass, her eyes focused beyond her own likeness to gaze at the adjoining door between her rooms and his. Unconsciously taking deep breath, Elizabeth stood from her seat before the vanity, only to find that her legs were trembling beneath her.

 _Enough_! she chastised herself. She was not some martyr about to be cast into the lion's den; she was going to her husband.

Her step did not falter as she walked over to the inner-door, and if her knock it was rather fainter than she would have liked, another round self-reprimand fled her thoughts when the door unclosed.

There he stood, unmoving, his eyes drinking in every detail of her appearance. She was staring too. At the curls falling over his forehead. At his broad shoulders. At his dressing gown. She could feel the blush burn her cheeks and her legs began to tremble once more. Had she been of a mind to acknowledge it, she could have railed at her body's betrayal.

Elizabeth saw him start and come to himself, reaching out to take her hand. Instead of leading her straight to bed as she half expected, Darcy sat with her on a divan set in front of the hearth. He brought his other hand to hold the one of hers in his grasp between them.

"Were your rooms to your liking? Did Lily see to everything you had need of?"

An exulting, affectionate smile sprang to Elizabeth's lips. This was her Fitzwilliam, very much as he had ever been, concerned with her comfort and well-being above all else. Whatever was to come to-night and all the days after, she knew the same tenderness would bring to bear.

"She did, and my chamber is lovely."

Darcy played with her fingers as he said, "No one has used them since my mother passed. I had Mrs Anderson make a few alterations, but if anything is not to your tastes, you need only tell her and it can be refurbished."

At his words, something fell into place in Elizabeth's mind. It was he, not the staff, who knew which colors were her favorite to have them decorate her room. It was to him she once remarked that the sight of fresh flowers had always made her feel cheerful. Though it should not have surprised her, the idea of Darcy taking special care to have her feel at home here with him affected her.

Twisting her hand so that she was now holding his, she brought it to her mouth and kissed his palm softly. "I would not change anything. Thank you."

Whether it was a trick of the fire or otherwise, Darcy's eyes seemed to be burning. Elizabeth wanted to reach out and touch him, and aware she was now free to do so if she liked, she gave in to the temptation. His breathing hitched as she felt the hot, smooth skin of his cheek.

Devastatingly slowly, her hand wandered along his jaw, down his throat, until she splayed it against his chest. His eyes had drifted shut in ecstasy at the sensation of this gentle exploration, and she watched in fascination how he responded to her attentions. Her fingers lingered over his heart, and she could feel it pounding through the thin silk of his dressing gown, its beat almost frantic beneath.

Feeling daring without his piercing gaze upon her, Elizabeth began dusting his brow, cheeks, and eyelids with kisses, little realizing how she was making merry hell of his resolve to take his time so as not to frighten her.

"Elizabeth…" he expelled her name in an unsteady breath.

When her teasing, tormenting lips finally came upon his, Darcy was lost. His hands went plunging into the hair that was tumbling down her back, tangling in her curls. Their kisses became deeper, more urgent, and Elizabeth unconsciously crooned, sending a thrumming sensation spilling from her lips to his. He pressed her more closely to his body, and tilting his head ever so slightly, took her bottom lip between his. Elizabeth's hands were moving over him again, meeting only the cloth of his dressing gown until she allowed her fingers to slip underneath and graze the skin of his shoulder.

His loss of restraint could be fixed to that exact moment. Darcy tore away from her for a moment, a moment that to her felt like an eternity.

Then he wrenched her to him once more, and the world faded away. There was him, nothing but him, him to look at and feel and touch and know. Elizabeth felt his hands at her waist while his mouth wandered over her. He lowered his head to press his lips to the inside of her wrist and the skin there felt as if it had caught fire, though she never thought it to be so sensitive before. As he reached the sleeve of her nightgown, one hand came up to sweep it aside so he could continue freely along the curve of her shoulder. Rather than returning to her waist, that hand sought lower and grazed her silk-covered thigh, his fingers trembling lightly as he did.

Her own hands went up to clutch the fabric of his nightshirt, his mother's ring glittering around her finger as it caught the firelight. She could feel Darcy's chest rising and falling rapidly. Both of their breathing came shallow and erratic, the sound of it mingling harshly together.

When his lips came to her throat, she gave a soft, breathless cry. This was beyond anything.

Elizabeth found herself in his arms, being lifted up and carried over to the bed. He rested her gently upon it and down he came too, close, so close, with her body beneath his. This time she kissed him, passionately and without reserve. He had all of her.

"Elizabeth," he whispered against her parted lips in a voice choked with longing. He repeated her name over and again, it fell from his lips as though it were a fervent prayer. "Elizabeth…Elizabeth… _Elizabeth…_ "

She arched against him, and Darcy made a sound from deep in his throat.

He pulled away, just barely, needing to look at her. They locked eyes, and the night was theirs alone.

**Author's Note:**

> So here's the thing. I never like to put up any story which I don't already have at least half finished to keep from having crazy delays between chapters. That, it seems, was just not meant to be this time around. I've had this idea partly written for almost a year, and even though I have a general sense of what I want it to be, actually executing it in a way that doesn't make me want to quietly beat my head against a wall is another matter entirely.
> 
> Which brings us to now. I am posting what I have so far in an attempt to pressure myself into sorting this mess out. I have every intention of continuing this in some shape even though it will be short, but if life continues to screw with that plan, at least this can stand on its own.


End file.
